Haven't You Longed To Be Free?
by grazed142
Summary: Spoilers for Goodbye and Good luck.Can you find what you need when you aren't sure what it is you've lost? What if someone else has lost the same thing? GSR.
1. Chapter 1

They had a dog. In their bedroom, the bed was unmade. There was a cold cup of coffee on the bedside table. Their home. It was perfectly, beautifully ordinary. And she was leaving it. Right now, Grissom would be in his office, still reeling from the news that she was leaving. Leaving not only the lab, but him as well. For now, anyway. She didn't want to think of the pained look in his eyes, so she tried to concentrate on which sweater to pack. Maybe blue. As she pulled it out, she felt her cell phone vibrate.

"Sidle." She thought of the nametag on her vest, ripped off like a band-aid to reveal an open wound.

"Sara."

Her breath caught. She hadn't expected him to call. _Tell me to stay, _she begged silently. _Let me go._

"I just…I did a load of laundry before I left today," Grissom stammered, his voice slightly higher than usual.

"Your red tank top is still in the dryer. I thought you'd probably want to take it."

She had kissed him at work. How other way could she possibly say goodbye?

"I'll call you," she said breathlessly. Then she hung up the phone.

After she packed the tank top, she took his pillowcase off the bed. Smelling it was nothing like being near him. But she wanted to be able to smell it anyway.

Dogs didn't understand this kind of thing. Bruno lay sprawled across the bed heaving huge sighs that seemed distinctly human. From his spot on the bed, Grissom bent down to scratch Bruno's ear, but the dog only gazed back up with a forlorn look.

"She'll come back," Grissom promised, rubbing his thumb over the silky fur.

Without Sara, he felt almost claustrophobic in their bedroom. It seemed that her ghost took up a lot of space. A small triangle of cloth stuck out from her sock drawer. Her scent lingered on her pillow. But she had taken her red tank top. He had checked. Sighing, Grissom pulled out his cell phone and stared at it for a minute.

"I'd follow you anywhere," he told it. Then he leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes. Cupping his hands around the phone, he closed his eyes and waited for the call he knew wouldn't come. When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of San Francisco sun and carnival rides.

They were on the utmost top of a Ferris wheel, and her skin glowed golden. Tucking a dark curl behind her ear, she turned to him and smiled sadly at him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, reaching out to feel the texture of her skin.

"We're stuck," she said, looking down. He looked too. It was true. Their car rocked slowly in the wind, and then stilled. Below them, no one seemed to notice that the ride was stuck.

"This always happens," Sara told him. "I think we need to fix the ride."

Grissom frowned.

"Sara, I'm not sure I know how to do that."

"Me neither," she told him, laying her head on his shoulder.

Above them, the sunlight began to fade into late afternoon light, and the music-box carnival tunes continued with an inexpressible sadness.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I just realized that the first chapter was really confusing, cuz I forgot to separate stuff with lines. Sorry about that...

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San Francisco was sunlight. It was miles of beach and the excited chatter of college kids. Wasn't this what she had wanted? An escape from death? Sara watched from the balcony of her hotel room as a toddler on the nearby sand screamed and laughed, stomping her feet in the ocean. It was a whole different world out here…instead of processing somebody's crime scene, she was watching the best days of somebody's life. Not her own, maybe. But somebody's. San Francisco was a change of scenery. A chance for reflection. Sara shivered slightly, and it wasn't just the salty California wind.

_"How was your sabbatical?" _

_It was a strange time to finally be asking. They were lying in bed, and she could feel his breath on her naked back. He paused.. _

_"You know how when you're really overwhelmed, you just want to be alone? Sometimes, all the polite conversation, and tedious relationships, they just make you lonely. Well, in Massachusetts, I _was _alone." Grissom cleared his throat, and the hand on her shoulder stilled. _

_" It was okay for a while, but in the end I was only lonelier. I missed you…I missed connection."_

On the beach, two elderly lovers walked slowly over the sand, hand in hand. Sara fished in her pocket for her cell phone.

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"Catherine. Do you have a minute?"

"Do you have five dollars?"

Grissom frowned, and walked over to where Catherine sat in the break room, reading what appeared to be some sort of brightly colored magazine. Sitting down, he heaved a sigh, and Catherine finally looked up. She gave him a smile, her eyes full of pity and camaraderie.

"How're you holding up?"

"Sara, um, called me." He waved his cell phone in front of her briefly, to illustrate. "I missed it."

Catherine nodded, looking uncomfortable.

"That's good. That she called, I mean."

"Yeah. Hypothetically, if she were to want me to…you know, follow her…"

Catherine nodded again. "I'd fill in here." She flipped a page of her magazine, but her eyes remained on Grissom.

"I appreciate that, Catherine," he muttered, rising to go.

"Gil," she called as he turned toward the door.

"It's hard, losing a team member. In more ways than one." Her voice was quiet, and strangely un-Catherine-like. "And it's even harder losing two."

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It was a beautiful carousel. Intricately painted horses, red and yellow and blue. Their manes were made of flowers, their tails long rays of sunlight. From somewhere within the machine, music played slowly and rhythmically as Sara kneeled to snap a picture of the child that lay still and bloodied beside a horse. His golden hair was sullied with dirt and blood, and his mouth gaped grotesquely. Gripping a railing, Sara tried to steady herself as the ride turned round and round.

"We can't stop it", the ride operator had said. "Not for CSIs. Not even for you."

So Sara processed her crime scene on a spinning carousel, taking samples and snapping pictures and trying not to think that _this is so wrong, _so wrong that a child could be murdered in a place so safe.

Then suddenly Grissom was beside her, looking tired and sad.

"Do you want to get off the ride, Sara?"

She nodded, feeling a knot rise up in her throat. She wanted to feel his warmth, hold his hand.

"Can we?"

Grissom smiled, suddenly looking a little more revived.

"Yeah. Let's get off for a while, huh? You and me."

He smiled at her as the carousel music changed to a monotonous, insistent bleating.

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He sat in his office for almost half an hour before calling. What if she didn't want to hear from him? What if she was busy with something?

Grissom frowned and snapped his phone shut. Then open. Shut. Then open again.

Finally, he punched in her phone number. He had her on speed dial of course, but he wanted to take his time. Each ring was a small pang of anxiety in his stomach.

"Sidle."

Her voice was rough and sleepy.

"Sara. Are you okay?" All of the things he had planned to say had suddenly abandoned him, leaving him with nothing and everything that he wanted to say.

"I'm…. okay. Weird dream."

"Did I wake you up?" he asked, twisting a pen around and around in his hands.

"Yeah," she said finally, her voice small.

He was halfway through a nervous apology when she cut him off, her voice soft and intimate, like she was telling a secret for only him to hear.

"Gil. I need you with me. I want you with me. And I'm sorry I'm doing this, I'm sorry I didn't know…"

He set the pen down and sat up straight in his chair.

"Where are you?"

She made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob, and he forgot everything, everyone, except for this. Sara.

He was going to San Francisco.


	3. Chapter 3

Grissom wasn't sure what he expected to find, exactly, when Sara opened the door. Desperation? Deep grief? Maybe both. Those were certainly the emotions her letter had instilled in him. As he knocked on the door of her quiet, anonymous hotel room in San Francisco, one hand clutching a latte, his mouth was dry with worry and anticipation. Then she opened the door.

"Hey," she said. Her hair was wet, and she was wearing sweatpants and a tank top. She smelled like hotel shampoo, and it made Grissom want to remember the smell forever.

"Hi," he breathed. It was strange, being here. Instead of the bustle of the crime lab or the cozy solitude of their townhouse, here they stood in a hotel hallway like strangers.

He was vaguely aware that he should hug her, kiss her, do anything to ensure that she'd never leave him again.

"I brought you some coffee," he said finally, holding out the cup.

She only gazed at him, smiling sadly, and when he looked into her eyes he found everything he had been expecting. She was desperate. She was grieving. But she was also strong. Abandoning the coffee on a nearby counter, he closed the distance between them in a single step, and when she hugged him back the hairs on the back of his neck rose with the simple sound of her sigh in his ear.

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Sara watched Grissom wearily as he unpacked the few items of clothing he had obviously hastily stuffed into his small suitcase. His clothes were slightly wrinkled, his hair mussed from travel. She rubbed her eyes. What had she been thinking, dragging him out here? He was needed at the lab. Sara braced herself, and started to speak.

"I'm so sorry for doing this to you, Gil."

He turned to face her, blue eyes like the sky in the summer.

"Honey. Don't be."

"I know this isn't the ideal situation, but I was thinking we could stay here for a while, and sort things out between us. Then, you know, when you need to get back to the lab, I can just keep heading north. Bury my ghosts and all. You read the letter."

Internally, Sara winced. She had been so much more eloquent in her letter, and now she was just fumbling and unsure.

Grissom turned away again, stuffing a couple of pairs of socks into a drawer.

"Is this something you need to do alone, Sara?" His voice was even, but she could tell he was nervous from the slope of his shoulders, unconsciously tensed and rounded.

"I don't want to hurt you," she murmured. "I just don't want to mess this up."

"I have ghosts too, you know," he said, reaching for a handful of boxers. She stared as he folded each, the white ones and the green ones and her favorites, the ones with the patterned bugs.

"Maybe we could bury them together," he continued, finally turning to face her. He pulled a chair up to the edge of the bed where she was sitting, so that their knees touched.

"I'm not the best person to be with right now," she whispered as his fingers found the curls beside her ear.

"Yeah, well, you are to me. You're my one and only too, Sara."

She bit her lip, feeling her resolve begin to crumble.

"It won't be a vacation," she warned him, closing her own hand over his. It was big and warm, and in the back of her mind she wondered what it would feel like if they were both wearing wedding rings.

"And there are still things I need to face alone."

"Okay. Sara, give me the word and I'll stay. But if you need me to leave, I can do that. Just tell me. Promise me you'll come back."

Feeling unexpected tears spring forth, she closed her eyes and let one hand float to his chest, feeling his beating heart.

One.

Two.

Three.

"Stay," she said, so quietly that she hardly heard her own voice. "Stay with me."

And even with her eyes closed, Sara could pinpoint the exact moment that he leaned in to kiss her, both of them sad and ecstatic and desperate and in love. Hands fumbling, hearts beating, breathing quickening, and suddenly they were both on the small bed. She wasn't listening, exactly, to the words he murmured with his mouth against her skin, but they seemed to seep inside of her, a gorgeous song that moved with the rhythm of their bodies. And she knew he wasn't listening to what he was saying, either, but his words were like a fervent mantra.

"Thank God," he was saying.

"Thank God."


End file.
